


Off With Her Head

by wildraspberrie



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Wolf, Episode Rewrite: s02e04 The Girl in the Fireplace, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27787504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildraspberrie/pseuds/wildraspberrie
Summary: Strange things are happening. Something's changed history and now Mickey and Jackie are speaking French, Rose is having weird psychic episodes, and the Doctor's trying to balance his love for Rose with his fear of losing her. All in all, just another day on the TARDIS.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	Off With Her Head

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I apologize for the clunkiness of this first chapter. It's been years since I've written anything. Also, the chapter one title has nothing to do with the film.

The console room shook and clanged harder than normal as a swooshing sound ripped through the room. Then a sudden silence fell and the Doctor feared gravity had been sucked out through a hole ripped in his ship. His eyes widened as he felt the weightlessness of his body, seemingly his fears confirmed, and he frantically scavanged the room for Rose.

Still airborne when he heard a high pitched yelp and then a groan - Rose, followed by Mickey releasing what might have been a curse - the Doctor tried to call out. Before he could do anything more, ask Rose if she was okay, and really he didn’t have the breath in his body to do so, he was slammed into the grating with jarring force. He grunted when his head made vigorous contact with the floor and his vision faded to black. 

He came to, to Rose’s lovely face hovering over his, her eyes big and round and glistening with tears. Smiling, the Doctor raised a hand and brushed it lightly through her hair. “’M fine, Rose.”

“Fine!” Her voice was deeper than usual and what’s more, the Doctor was certain her mouth hadn’t moved. “You’re fine? You were out for ten minutes!”

He blinked. “Blimey, Rose, how’re you doing that?”

Rose’s brows furrowed and her mouth pinched. Her eyes moved to something behind the Doctor and then back to him. She sniffed lightly and then adjusted her position, sitting closer to him, one hand resting lightly on his chest.

“How’m I doing what, Doctor?”

“Throwing your voice like that. And making it deeper, too. It’s brilliant! Oh, Rose, we should go see Edgar Bergen! The most famous ventriloquist of the 20th century! Oh, oh! You two could do a set together, that would be bloody fantastic!” Suddenly, the Doctor’s mood darkened. “How come you never told me about this talent, Rose? Thought I knew everything about you. I-”

Rose’s hand gently, but rather firmly, settled over the Doctor’s mouth and he glanced back up at her eyes. They were an interesting mix of concern, frustration, and ire. Oooo, was there ire. But Rose, his compassionate Rose, reacted to the first thing she was feeling, always.

“’M not throwing my voice, Doctor. That was Mickey talkin’. ‘Member? You invited him to travel with us, after Deffry Vale?” Oh, and there was that frustration again, leaking out of her voice. The Doctor deftly ignored that and tipped his head back, in the direction Rose had glanced and, yep. There was Mickey Smith, a little worse for wear, a little frightened, but there.

“Right. Well, hello, Mickey-Mick! Why are you upside down, then? Taken to the circus, have you? Oh! Are you going to tell me you’re a flying trapeze man now?”

Mickey looked at Rose and then back down at the Doctor and the fear on his face increased. That just wouldn’t do at all. Rose didn’t need to contend with another fearful Mickey. Just as he opened his mouth to tell Mickey’s fear to be gone, soft, delicate fingertips grazed the side of his head. Gentle though they were, a lancing pain shot behind his eyes and he grimaced.

“Doctor, the TARDIS was bumpier than usual. Mickey an’ me, we just fell a bit, but you shot up in the air like you was jumpin’ on a trampoline, then slammed down and smacked your head on the side of the console. You been out a while, like Micks said.”

The worry she felt soaked her words. Her face was scrunched with all the concern she held for him and the Doctor stared a moment. He blinked, then gingerly stretched his time sense. His head pounded a bit, but the pain was lessening and, yep, there it was. Exactly twelve minutes and thirteen seconds had passed, ten of those minutes he couldn’t account for any memories. Right.

“Right. Well, give me a mo’, love, and I’ll be right as rain.” He froze at the endearment and then rushed on, hoping the slip in his verbal filters could be swept away with his usual gob. “Right as rain, what does that mean, anyway? How could rain be right? It’s just a thing. A weather phenomenon. Falling water.

Nothing right or wrong about it, unless you’re on Pallagia, where they don’t have any rain. Then the rain would be wrong, of course, because you see, Rose, the air on Pallagia is always dense with moisture. It’s always foggy, misty, what have you, and it keeps all the plants properly hydrated. And the plants! Oh, Rose, you’d love those! They’re such delicate little things, even the trees. They’re all so small, and the roots so thin - and on top of the soil, Rose! If it rained, they’d all be washed away and there’d be just nothing left. We should go, yeah, after whatever this mess is?”

The small, amused smile that spread across Rose’s face and her short nod in assent assured the Doctor that his slip had been successfully swept away, so he held his hand out to her and asked, “Help me up? Blimey, it’s not half disorientating looking up like this.”

Rose bit her lip hesitantly, but then slowly grasped the Doctor’s hand. He heard movement behind him and felt larger hands settle onto his back and - oh, yes, Mickey. Working together, Rose and Mickey gently levered the Doctor up. His head spun, but not like the Twirling Teacups, oh, no. A more lazy ferris wheel of a spin. Honestly, he’d prefer the teacups. Get it over with.

“I should stop forgetting you’re here, shouldn’t I, Mickey?”

“Oi!”

The Doctor tripped a little as the man in question shoved him fully onto his feet. He sniffed and finished righting himself, rolling his shoulders out of Mickey’s hands. Once stood, he yanked the bottom of his suit jacket down stiffly. Oops. Verbal filters were still MIA.

Out of the corner of his eye - the one not swollen shut and ah, that’s why he only had half perception - he saw Rose’s lips quirk up slightly, before she noticed the Doctor’s attention. She frowned severely and crossed her arms, but her eyes still sparkled a bit. The Doctor smirked at her. Couldn’t fool him, could his Rose.

He looked down at the console, reading the data streaming across the monitor, and frowned. He turned a bit, away from Rose, to focus his good eye on the temporal buffer and reached over to swivel it three full times, then jangled it once. As he did, he caught sight of Mickey folding his arms across his chest, biceps bulging, and the cotton of his tee stretching over his pectorals.

The Doctor sniffed again and turned toward Rose, his finger pointing to the thermal reducer and an instruction on his lips. He froze, though, as he caught sight of Rose. Staring. Seconds passed before Rose blinked and straightened herself, cheeks flushing. The Doctor felt a small thrill zing through him and a little grin played on his lips.

“Press the thermal reducer, will you, Rose?” His voice was softer than it had any right to be, softer than he wanted it to be, when he spoke to her. She quickly nodded and ducked her head, reaching for the button. After pressing it, she tossed a short look behind the Doctor and her cheeks reddened even more.

The Doctor’s breath caught and he turned his head to get his good eye on Mickey. The man had a strange look on his face, knowing but also like he’d smelled some bad cheese, and a hot-cold sensation flashed through the Doctor. He eyed Mickey’s biceps again, then surreptitiously reached up to squeeze his own, less physically impressive ones, with a quick glance at Rose. Conflicting emotions swirled through the Doctor and he didn’t know which one to focus on first - jealousy over the fact that Rose had been eyeing Mickey’s apparently impressive musculature over the Doctor’s more wiry but still quite impressive frame, or extreme offense on Rose’s behalf that the ungrateful man seemed to find Rose’s interest as interesting as smelly cheese.

A mauve light, accompanied by the ringing of the Cloister Bells, jolted the Doctor back to the current predicament. Correction. He should focus on the fear coursing down his spine. He frantically whipped the monitor back to him and read the readout.

“Doctor? What’s wrong?”

“Well, good thing is, I know why the Old Girl tossed us all into the air like she was flipping a flapjack. Bad news is that it’s because time might be unraveling.” He paused, then looked at Mickey. “This more exciting than the Crabble planet, then, eh Mick?”

Stunned fear on his face, Mickey still managed to hiss, “I was stranded in a smelly swamp for six hours while you and Rose flew dragon-horses!”

“Marapoes, Mickey, not dragon-horses. And it’s not our fault you screamed like an infant when one of them spit fire at you.” His voice was tense, his shoulders tenser, and his temper was on the verge of snapping. He felt movement on his right and then a delicate hand settled at the small of his back, rubbing soothing circles. He breathed deeply and centered himself, then set the TARDIS to scanning the timelines.

“What’s gone wrong, Doctor?”

He turned a reassuring smile at Rose as his ship ran the scan. “We’ll see in a moment. Hopefully. It’s not exactly straight forward, is it? Time isn’t exactly data in a computer that can be picked up and fixed with a quick troubleshoot. The nearest she’ll be able to do is— ah. Hmm.”

“Boss?”

Rose’s hand clenched tightly into his suit jacket. Her head pressed into his arm, but for once, her jasmine shampoo didn’t send a spike of lust through him. He scratched his sideburn as he stared at the results on the screen. Or rather, the lack of them.

“It seems the ripple effect of the point in time that was disrupted, the very same that jolted us out of the vortex, has damaged enough of the ship’s sensors that she can’t get a good read. It’s just... nonsense, really. Blimey. What she’s spitting out is the equivalent of whatever it was Mickey was spewing at New Year’s.”

Mickey scowled at him, but Rose giggled. When Mickey tossed the glare her way, she pressed her face into the Doctor’s arm. Her words came out muffled. “What you saying then? The TARDIS is drunk?”

Chuckling, the Doctor nudged Rose. “I s’pose.”

“Oi! How comes we ain’t taking this seriously, then?”

Mickey’s voice was laced with dread and the Doctor’s conscious pricked him. He gently dislodged Rose and ran to the doors for a quick peek out. The dingy, graffitied courtyard at the Powell Estates greeted him. He breathed deeply, held the air in as his body analyzed the components, then released it. Then he stuck his tongue out and waggled it a bit, then brought that in to taste. “Hmm.”

He tilted his head and reached out his time senses. Something felt off all right, but the offness didn’t feel quite as dire as the Cloister Bells had made it seem. Odd, that. Funny thing, that. He slammed the door closed and raced up to the console. He flipped the diagnostic switch to run a scan of the TARDIS’ systems, then reached for the button that would silence the Bells and switch off the mauve.

“Doctor?”

The Doctor glanced up at Rose, the uncertainty in her voice twinging his hearts. He grinned widely, pulled her into his side, and said, “No worries, Rose. Might not be as bad as the Old Girl’s saying it is. Bit of a drama queen, she is, yeah?”

“So, nothing’s happened to time?”

He squeezed her. “Oh, something’s happened, all right, but it doesn’t seem too severe. Not world- or universe-ending, anyway.”

He heard Mickey huff and then flop onto the captain’s seat as he asked, “What was that about, sniffin’ and lickin’ the air, then?”

The Doctor placed a comforting kiss into Rose’s hair and rested his cheek on top of her head to look at Mickey. “I have advanced senses. My olfactory and oral receptors can pick up differences in time.”

Mickey squinted at him. “An’ what happened to it, then?”

Letting out a blustery sigh, the Doctor rubbed his hand up and down Rose’s arm. “Blimey, you’re full of questions today!”

“Sorry that I want to know what happened an’ then fix it! It’s only our world that’s been changed!” Mickey’s voice hit octaves that only dogs (or Time Lords) could hear at the end and the Doctor winced. He rubbed the ear not muffled by Rose’s hair and grimaced.

“Oh, come now, Mickey. It’s not always so dire. Something is undeniably rotten in the state of Denmark, sure, but it doesn’t necessarily mean the end of everything. Time isn’t so fragile. It’s quite malleable, in fact, and little disturbances - even quite big ones - can just be absorbed into the timeline and people’s lives will be written to accommodate the change. Most times, no one even notices anything different.”

He paused. “Weeeell, your memories would have been overwritten, of course, so you couldn’t. But usually, the average human’s life wouldn’t really be affected. It’d just stay about the same, give or take a different Prime Minister or the Beatles not making it big.”

Mickey huffed. “What about big changes to the future of Earth and humanity, then?”

The Doctor blanched. “Nothing is set in stone, unless it’s a fixed point. And fixed points, unless directly meddled in, will still happen.” Mickey stared stonily and even Rose raised her brows. The Doctor sighed. “It’s like this: fixed points are like boulders in the middle of a river. The river itself is time. You can muddle with time all you want in front of the boulder because, no matter what’s been done, the water will still flow around that boulder. It won’t subsume it.” The Doctor cast a stern glance at Mickey. “Just don’t blow up the boulder and time will be fine.”

His companions fell into a thoughtful silence for a moment, then Rose rested her chin on his chest and looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Do all changes knock the TARDIS about, though?”

The Doctor ran his hand through his hair and pulled Rose closer. “Good question. Usually, no.” Rose bit her lip and the Doctor’s gaze lingered a moment before he jerked it up toward Mickey. “Then again, my ship’s old. She was old on Gallifrey, when I st— liberated her. So old she was about to be decommissioned.” His voice turned soft as he stared at the rotor. “Truth is, she’s pretty much held together by tape, string, and gum. If you hadn’t noticed.”

Mickey jolted out of his seat and pointed at the round crystal dial. “I knew that was a paperweight!”

Ignoring the outburst, the Doctor stroked the console. “She reacts more violently to things than other TARDISes did and it’s possible that this change is one of those things.”

“But we’re going to investigate, yeah, in case it’s not?”

A manic grin split the Doctor’s face, stinging his black eye, and the Doctor spun Rose around. “Of course we are!”

“Well, ya don’t have to be so excited ‘bout it,” Mickey mumbled.

The Doctor slowed to a stop and gently let Rose down onto her feet, then looked at Mickey shrewdly. “Then why’d you ask to come?”

Mickey scowled. “Ain’t like you said the trouble’s just the bits in between, is it? And what do you mean, big changes to time ain’t mean nothing in the grand scheme? What ‘bout what happened when Rose tried to save her dad? And isn’t maintaining the timelines what you’re all about?”

The Doctor groaned and dropped his head back. His eye was now swollen and throbbing and a headache was burrowing its way into his brain and Mickey wanted to know the intricacies of time. He stared at the top of the rotor for a moment, then dropped his gaze down to the man.

“Mickey,” he sighed, “Rose tried to change her personal history. If she’d done that, she’d have changed her life as she knew it, which would have made it so that she never went back in time to change her past. See the problem?”

Mickey stared at him for a bit. Long enough for the Doctor to fidget and look at Rose askance. “Bit dim in there, isn’t it?” He gestured at Mickey’s head and was gratified when Rose let out a chortle that was quickly stifled with her hand and a glare at him. The Doctor bit his lip and looked back at Mickey, then leaned forward to examine his eyes. “Wheels in there moving, Mickey-Mick?”

Mickey blinked and startled back at the Doctor’s proximity. “Ah! Don’t do that!” The Doctor chuckled and opened his mouth to comment when the TARDIS scanner dinged. Her diagnostics were complete. He turned toward the monitor and scrolled through the data, only half listening to Mickey’s muttered, “So if someone changes the entirety of history in general by making sure one thing happens or doesn’t happen, that didn’t or did happen previously, time just adjusts and... no one’s the wiser?”

The Doctor tapped his nose twice and pointed at Mickey. “You’ll be a time traveler yet.”

“But hold on. What happens if someone kills Hitler as a baby?”

The Doctor tapped the screen, a frown on his face. “Then World War Two probably never happens. Or it does. Things were rather volatile in that time period. It’s possible the Soviet Union would have started a war. The Jews wouldn’t have died on the basis of their ethnicity and religion, most likely, but many would probably still have died based on the grand scale of the war the Soviets could have waged. Or maybe Germany was already riled up enough and someone else would have emerged to blame the Jews for everything. It’s not like that’s a new thing or anything.”

“What? How comes that’ll happen? I thought big things like that were fixed?”

The Doctor glanced up at Rose with a smile. The confusion on her face was adorable and his hearts squeezed. “Nope. Just because it’s big doesn’t mean it’s inevitable. But because it is big, it does mean something else as big would most likely take its place, just by virtue of the geopolitics of the era.”

Mickey scoffed. “Then why do you do what you do, if it’s all just a roll o’ the dice an’ all?”

“Well, I rather like Rose the way she is, don’t you? I rather like Jaffa Cakes and pasties and tea on Sunday - well, no, we could scratch the Sundays. I also rather like the universe the way it’s supposed to be and I rather like not having mavericks messing about in things they don’t understand. And I didn’t say that these major changes would lead to a necessarily better world, did I?”

Mickey nodded, then gestured at the monitor. “Everything all right?”

The Doctor hummed. “Diagnostics picked up a hiccup in the ship’s Temporal Sensor Chamber.” He became a whirl of movement, wrenching his sonic out of his pocket and tossing himself under the grating. He picked through the wires gently until he found what he was looking for and soldered the wire back into place. There was a gentle, relieved hum and the Doctor patted the chassis. “Sorry, Old Girl. That must have been irritating,” he murmured.

Job done, the Doctor popped back up and replaced the grating. Rose helped him to his feet and looked expectantly at him. “Loose wire. When the shock of the change happened, it jiggled the wire into the danger wire, which set off the alarms. I’ll run another check, but as I said, big change though it was, it doesn’t seem to be paradoxical in nature.”

He set about doing just that and ignored Mickey’s grumbled, “Danger wire? That can’t be it’s name.”

“I wouldn’t put it past the Time Lords, really,” Rose whispered. “Everythin’s either ridiculously complicated and long-winded or simplistically short.” Her tone oozed derision.

Mirth flooded through him as the Doctor read the most recent readout. He’d love to see Rose go head to head with the Time Lord Council. Rassilon help them, because they’d need it.

“Or maybe it’s just the Doctor.”

“Oi!” His head shot up and he glared at Rose, who merely giggled back. He intensified his glare, but Rose just pointed at him.

“You’re hair’s vibrating. I never asked, is Gallifreyan hair sentient? Aerials that pick up the time streams an' funnel 'em into your head?”

Mickey chuckled into his hand and Rose’s tongue-touched smile spread across her face. The Doctor stuck out his tongue and turned back to the screen, but there was a small smile dancing at the edges of his mouth. Rose poked him in the side, her usual manner in telling him that he couldn’t fool her.

“Well?” Rose prodded.

“No, my hair is not sentient.”

There were a few seconds of silence before the console room rang with laughter. The Doctor let the humor of the moment go a little while longer before he answered the actual question. “No paradoxes in the making. Shall we go for a stroll, see what’s changed?”

Rose bit her bottom lip and fairly vibrated in excitement. She reached out and waggled her fingers and the Doctor latched on, as always. He cocked his head at Mickey, who looked less than certain about the proposition, but budged up and nodded. The Doctor beamed at him and did a quick jig down the ramp, pulling Rose along.

“It’s a brave new world!”

He threw the doors open and twirled a laughing Rose out. They were followed by a somewhat reluctant Mickey. Really, the Doctor didn’t see why he’d allowed the man to join them. Rose squeezed his hand and pulled him along, her face bright with the thrill of adventure and the Doctor didn’t think he’d ever traveled with someone so in tune with him. His hearts thumped double time and a dreamy smile, the likes of which rivaled the one on New Earth after Rose-not-Rose kissed him, overtook his face and— oh. That’s why. 

The Doctor cleared his throat and pasted a smile on over his abject terror. “Come along, Mickmeister, no dawdling! You’re sapping all the fun.”

Rose punched his arm lightly and admonished, “Rude,” but there was a huge smile on her face. She schooled it into a more demure expression and looked back at Mickey. “Come on, Mickey, live a little! This is why you’re here, yeah?”

Mickey grumbled a bit, but then put on some speed to come abreast of he and Rose, then linked his arm through Rose’s free one. The Doctor looked forward and breathed deeply. The only indication that he’d noticed anything amiss was the slight downturn of his lips and the tightening of his hand on Rose’s. He looked at Rose peripherally and he let out a little huff. She seemed to be blissfully unaware of the the Doctor’s annoyance. He sniffed. Well, it was what he’d wanted anyway. Wasn’t it?

They walked down the alley of the TARDIS’ usual parking place, eyes peeled for anything unusual. But the concrete boxes were the same depressing sight - dingy, covered in graffiti, and strewn with trash. The sad little playground was still grassless, with just one swing. The other, it seemed, had still been stolen. The merry-go-round was still the sad-go-round, all rusty and dented and tilted to one side, and - the Doctor squinted - he was fairly sure someone had drawn a penis right next to where that horses' anus would be. The seesaw was still missing a seat.

The small group came to a halt when Bucknall House came into view and Mickey lamented with a sigh, “Nothing changed here, then.”

“Maybe, maybe not. We’ve yet to see people, yeah?”

“Exactly, Rose,” the Doctor exclaimed. “Let’s go see your mum.”

“Oh, going native, are we? Next thing, you’re gonna want to buy some curtains,” Rose said.

The Doctor poked her in the rib and she shrieked. “None of that mouth, you.” He started forward with a firm tug on Rose’s hand and was pleased to see her come loose from Mickey’s hold, then sped up for good measure.

“Oi, wait up!”

“Not my fault you’re slow, Mickey. Physically or mentally.”

“Doctor!” Rose punched him in the shoulder, slightly harder than her usual playful abuse, and he grimaced as he rubbed out the sting.

“Nice one, boss. You think of it all by yourself or did you do some research beforehand?”

The Doctor smirked. “Ooh, mousy’s got some bite.” Mickey snorted and shook his head, but a small smile flitted across his lips.

Rose groaned and opened her mouth to speak when a sharp clattering from their left startled her. Shouting shortly followed and then what sounded like fists on flesh and the Doctor and Mickey took off toward the ruckus, Rose in close pursuit. When they rounded the corner, the Doctor came face to fist with one of the troublemakers and he fell like a stone, groaning.

“Oi!” Mickey jumped in, catching the next fist and landing one of his own in the second fighter’s stomach, winding him enough to break the two apart.

Rose knelt by the Doctor’s side, face puckered in worry, as she searched his pockets for a handkerchief to staunch the blood. The Doctor caressed her arm and smiled through the pain. “I’b fibe, Rose. Be bedder in no tibe.”

He stumbled to his feet with Rose’s help just in time to watch the two men storm off with a rude gesture and a parting, “Break yourself!”

Mickey turned back to his friends only when the two men were out of sight and asked, “You ok, boss?”

Sniffing, then wincing when it pulled on his burst blood vessels, the Doctor yanked his suit jacket down and stood to full height. “I’b fibe.”

Rose threw her arms around his waist and hugged tight as Mickey grimaced. “You ain’t doing to well today, eh, mate?”

The Doctor looked down at Rose and winced. “Id’s not dad bad, is id?”

Her hand came up to his back and started stroking. The Doctor was almost sure it was more for Rose’s own comfort than his own. “Your nose matches your eye now. You look like a prize fighter. Only not so much with the prize or the fighter.”

Mickey snorted. “Some sort of superior physiology, that.”

Rose rolled her eyes and glared at Mickey. “Not now, Mickey.” Then she turned a soft gaze onto the Doctor and, as she started to move him forward, said, “Let’s get ya inside, yeah? Some tea in ya, some peas on the face.”

The Doctor nodded. “Dat sounds nidce.”

They gingerly made their way up the many stairwells to Jackie’s flat and just when they made it to the door, Mickey stopped them. Curious, the Doctor tilted his head.

“Hold on. Those blokes told me to ‘break myself.’ Is that some new slang from the new timeline?”

The Doctor furrowed his brow, thinking back. He regretted his snort of amusement the moment it happened, muttering, “Ow, ow, ow.” Rose cooed at him and ran her fingers soothingly through his hair and the pain was almost, no, definitely, worth it. Once it had receded, he slapped his hand against his forehead, “ow!”

“Smart one,” Mickey snickered.

The Doctor glared at him as he blindly searched for the sonic screwdriver he’d forgotten existed. Once retrieved, he set it to the right setting and ran it over his nose. It wouldn’t do much, couldn’t, but it would heal the tissue enough for him to speak normally and with a little less pain. After a few minutes, he breathed deeply. A small throbbing persisted, but he could breath without wincing.

That done, he turned to his audience. “They were French. That bloke said ‘casse-toi’, which literally means ‘break yourself.’ Or, figuratively, ‘fuck off’.”

Mickey blinked. “I don’t speak French!”

“The TARDIS translates for ya, remember, Micks?” Rose said gently.

“Oh, yeah.” But then he narrowed his eyes. “But why ‘break yourself’, if that’s not what he meant?”

The Doctor stuck his nose in the air and stated primly, “The Old Girl’s a lady. She doesn’t translate curse words.”

“You what?”

Exasperated, Rose opened the door and pushed the other two inside. “It’s true, Mickey. Now come on. It’s a bit cold out here, yeah, and I’m hungry.”

They piled into the flat and Rose lead the Doctor to the couch. He was perfectly fine now, the pain a minor inconvenience at worst. His face just looked bad. But if Rose wanted to play nursemaid to his injured Doctor, who was he to object? _A man trying to keep distance between you,_ flitted through his brain. Oddly enough, it sounded disapproving.

She lowered him to the couch and then sat on the edge, in the curve of his belly, and petted his bangs out his face. Her fingers were gentle on his forehead, lovingly avoiding the tender skin, and the Doctor sighed, his eyes closing in relief. It was a foolish notion to believe having Mickey along would put a distance between himself and Rose in the first place. She was like an electron and he, her proton, helplessly pulled into each other’s orbit. But things didn’t need to progress further. They could keep their status quo, their closeness. And in the end, he’ll have lost a friend and nothing more.

The Doctor ignored the tiny voice in his head that mocked that thought, that said that love was love, whether he did anything about it or not, and settled thankfully into the cushions at his back. Superior physiology or not, being knocked to the ground twice within an hour of each other, with his head the main target both times, was hard on a bloke. The tension eased as he sank into the couch.

“Jackie’s not here and there ain’t nothin’ in the freezer to help with his face. Or tea.”

Rose’s fingers brushed over the Doctor’s fringe. “Can you get a wash cloth and wet it with cool water, then? An’ Doctor, Mickey and I’ll go out for some ice and tea.”

“Don’t go,” he mumbled, his arm reaching out to stop Rose’s threatened departure.

Laughter tickled his ears and he felt her delicate fingers clasp his own lightly. She forced his hand down and patted it decisively, then stood. “’M hungry. And I know you are, too. Mum’s most likely out for the evening and she doesn’t have tea in. An’ your face needs some lovin’.”

“Fine,” he pouted.

Rose scratched behind his ear and cooed, “Big baby.”

“Your baby,” he mumbled. Then stilled. Rose’s fingers froze their motion and her breath caught. Damn it! His verbal filter was still on the fritz. He waited with baited breath for Rose to say something. Or do something. He was torn between her ignoring it and finally making a move that would force him forward.

Whatever spell had befallen them was broken when Mickey’s big feet trundled into the room. “Here you go: one damp, cool cloth,” he said, then dropped it messily onto the Doctor’s face.

“Mickey!” Rose exclaimed as she straightened it gently. The Doctor breathed out deeply. It was for the best, really. It wasn't like the big lead weight of disappoinment pressed down on his hearts or anything. Nope.

“He’s a grown man, alien, thing. Alien man-thing,” Mickey said dismissively.

“Alien man-thing. Gee, thanks, Mickey.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rose huffed and stood. “Come on. We’re all hungry and the Doctor would probably like some ice for his face.”

She smoothed his bangs over his head once more, her fingers lingering on his forehead, then got up. The Doctor heard her walk toward the door and gather her wallet. “Be right back, Doctor.”

“I’ll be here.”

“You should probably stay exactly right there, boss. No telling what might happen if you tried to get up,” Mickey stated, with what the Doctor concluded was entirely too much glee in his voice at ‘what might happen’. He scowled, but he was sure the effect was lost, with half his face hidden behind a cloth. He shooed Mickey with his hand, listening as his laughter faded with the click of the door, then let it flop. The force jiggled the couch and spiked another throb through his head.

“Ow.” He was quiet a moment, then, “All in all, everything started to go downhill when I let Mickey on board. Yep. This is all his fault. Somehow.”

Silence followed that pronouncement and the Doctor pouted. Why was it that he was the only one to get beat to a bloody pulp? Not that he ever wanted Rose in this situation, but it would have made him feel better if Mickey at least got a scratch. On those behemoth biceps of his. Maybe a nipple torn off those massive pecs. The Doctor huffed and crossed his arms petulantly.

Rose was out there, right now, walking around with Mickey, with a cold hand in need of holding. And Mickey had two of them! The Doctor’s scowl deepened, which intensified the throbbing in his eye, but he persisted.

He lay there on the couch for a few moments more until the persistent tick-tock of the clock roused him. He threw the cloth from his face in a way that Rose would have termed melodramatic and hopped to his feet. All energy, despite the pounding of his head, the Doctor was about to turn on the TV when the door burst open, it’s hard metal banging violently into the wall.

Spinning, the Doctor pointed his sonic defensively, only to lower it in concern... and drop it in surprise when he saw Mickey. A chortle erupted from his mouth as he took in the tight black pantaloons tucked into high, shiny Hessians, overlaid with a dark navy greatcoat with gold military insignia. He peeked at Rose and, at the alarmed, nearly crazed, look on her face, sobered immediately.

“Rose?” He asked softly, striding quickly to her side and putting his arm around her shoulders. He glanced at Mickey again, who, for his part, had his arms crossed and a stern glare on his face. The Doctor blinked and looked closer. Mickey’s stance was surprisingly disciplined, straight as an iron rod. Not a slouch to be seen. He looked at Rose again, eyebrow quirked.

Rose tipped her head covertly toward the kitchen. She smiled tightly at Mickey and motioned toward the couch as she ushered the Doctor away. “Why don’t you sit on the couch, Micks? Take a load off an’ all. We’ll make tea!”

Once hid in the small room, Rose gripped the Doctor’s lapels and yanked him down to her height. Noses touching, she whispered, “Mickey and I were almost off the Estate when he disappeared. I don’t mean he took off, mind, I mean he literally faded out of existence!”

Eyes wide, the Doctor leaned around the cutoff in the kitchen wall to look at the man in question, Rose stumbling forward as he did. Catching her close to his chest, the Doctor examined every bit and piece he could get his eyes on and muttered, “Then he came back looking like that.”

“Yeah. I mean, I guess he came back, but I didn’t see it. I was runnin’ back here and ran into him on my way up. Doctor,” her voice took on a fearful lull, so the Doctor turned his gaze back on her and tightened his hug, “he said he was finally back from his three years of obligatory service in the Royal Army.”

“Right. So, that’s bad.”

Rose nodded. “How is this not a paradox?”

The Doctor shrugged. “It just isn’t. You go changing your personal timeline or a fixed point, bing bang boom! Paradox.” The Doctor paused. “Remind me never to say that again. It made me feel uncomfortably like I was some velour-wearing, pimp-stick wielding ‘70s fellow.” He shuddered.

Rose cracked a small smile and lightly pinched his arm. He smiled back and rubbed up and down her back and continued, “There are infinite possibilities that each decision makes. That’s how we have multiple realities. Each decision, or group of decisions, branches the earth off into a different reality from this, the ‘prime’, one. But since that is so, it means the prime universe can also take on those decisions and veer off on another path, without creating another reality. That’s what’s happened here.”

“Is that because another reality is already living this one, so it had nowhere to go?”

The Doctor beamed down at Rose and her cheeks flushed violently. She stuck her thumb cuticle in her mouth and chewed it, her eyes flicking up, then down, at him shyly. “You’re rather brilliant, you are.” She bit her lip. He leaned down and kissed her gently on the head. “It’s a bit simplistic, but it’s something like that.”

“How do we fix it?”

The Doctor’s arms tightened even more around Rose. He wanted to pull her into his body so they stayed as one forever. A shiver slipped down his spine as the consequences of not fixing this taunted him with their possibility.

“Rose? What would you say if I told you it would be best if you went to the TARDIS and stayed there until I’d handled this?”

He didn’t dare look down, especially as he felt Rose’s entire body stiffen. Her hands became claws in his jacket, pulling the material tightly over his shoulders and back. “You said you would never leave me behind.” In a smaller voice, she continued, “I shoulda made you promise you’d never send me away again, though.”

Eyes shut tightly, the Doctor breathed deeply. “It would be safer for you. If you stay in the TARDIS, you’ll be safe from the repercussions of this time change. You haven’t yet disappeared and reappeared as a different person, like Mickey, because you’ve been time traveling for the better part of a year. You’ve got a buffer.”

He pulled back and held Rose at arm’s length, staring beseechingly into her eyes. “But that buffer won’t last forever and I have no idea when it’ll wear off.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of it affecting me. Would you... would you forget me, if I disappeared?”

“Oh, no. Time Lord, me. I’ve got centuries to go before any of this affects me, if at all. I just don’t think I could stand it, watching you blink out of existence, only to find someone new in your place.”

Rose stared into his eyes for a while longer, but then she firmed up her jaw and that famous Rose stubbornness flooded her eyes. The Doctor sighed, but nodded. Then he flashed her a smile and murmured, “My brave Rose.”

Her hand brushed his cheek, and settled there, and the room became charged with everything unspoken. His eyes strayed to Rose’s lips, then jumped back up as he felt a blush spread over his own cheeks. He meant to speak. He opened his mouth, even, but only a squeak came out. He cleared his throat as Rose giggled, and he was going to continue, but a shriek from the other room cut him off.

“What the hell happened to me door?!”

Rose’s eyes popped wide and she darted out of the room - and the Doctor’s embrace. He followed slowly after, wincing as Jackie’s voice hit octaves he’d thought unknown to humanity. He emerged around the corner to Jackie hollering about something or other; it rather went in one ear and out the other when he was focused on Rose. Just then, the woman’s gaze darted over to him, eyes narrowed.

“This is your doin’, in’nit?”

Scowling, the Doctor spat, “I’ll have you know, I have nothing to do with why you’re speaking French!”

Rose choked loudly and all eyes turned to her. Jackie glared suspiciously as the Doctor smothered a smile, watching Rose clamp her mouth shut. Then a strange sound, sort of like a whale dying, struggled its way out of her. She slammed her hand over her lips and muttered, “Swallowed.... air. Water,” and scuttled off to the kitchen, her shoulders shaking.

Muttering darkly, Jackie turned back to the Doctor and snapped, “What you on about, speaking French? As if you haven’t known me to speak it our entire acquaintance! You trying to be funny?”

“I don’t have to try. I’m always funny,” he stated, eyebrows raised.

A snort came from behind him and the Doctor turned, then jerked back. “Blimey, Mickey, warn a guy before you come at him from his rear.”

Mickey stayed silent, his only reaction a stony stare.

“Right... this is where you make an uncouth remark, a ‘joke’, as you call it. Something along the lines of ‘that’s what he said’.” Mickey continued to stare, seemingly unimpressed. The Doctor sniffed. “Yes, well, I wasn’t fond of them, either, so I find myself baffled as to why I’m missing those sorts of comments now.” 

A gusty sigh blew the back of the Doctor’s painstakingly styled hair out of place and his hands shot up to cup the strands protectively. He glowered at the source as she pushed passed him, arms full of her shopping. Gentleman that he was, however, he relieved Jackie of her burden and sauntered to the kitchen.

Rose had mugs on the counter, the water on the boil, and her head in her hands. When the Doctor entered, she looked over her fingers at him and whispered, “It wasn’t that funny.”

“Well, your mum and second-best mate have mysteriously become French. It’s okay if you’ve gone a bit barmy over it.” He smiled beatifically and patted Rose on the head.

She dodged with a growl and a mumbled ‘git’, then dove into the grocery sacks. A minute later, the kettle whistled and she had the tea bags steeping and a lovely spread of scones with butter and jam. The Doctor’s eyes lit up and he reached for one of the nibbles, only to feel a sting from where Rose had slapped his hand away.

Betrayed, hand hugged protectively to his chest, the Doctor harrumphed and about-faced into the sitting room. Over his shoulder, he tossed a more serious glance. Rose stilled. “Tea can’t last long, Rose. It’s a relief that Mickey and Jackie remember me because it means that if time does overwrite you before we can fix this, you’ll still know me. But I quite prefer you the way you are.”

Rose blushed fiercely and ducked her head back to the tea and nibbles, but she nodded. A satisfied smirk spread across the Doctor’s face for a moment, but froze when his mind screeched like a record worn thin by the needle. His brain rewound like a video and marked all the places he’d been overly affectionate with Rose. Groaning, he slumped to the couch, head lollygagging against the headrest. So much for distance and ‘just friends’.

Jackie poked the Doctor’s shoulder and asked reluctantly, “You all right, then?”

“Peachy keen,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

“Whatever. How long you two stayin’? I’d like to see my daughter before she’s thirty, you know.”

Grouching, the Doctor snarked, “Oh, did I forget to say? Rose is really 439. Those 68th century spas, you know?”

“You what?!” Jackie’s screech pierced into the Doctor’s skull like a flying axe and he ducked, hands pressed over his ears protectively. Jackie started to pummel him with a pillow, hurling every invective she knew at him.

“What’s the matter?” Rose shouted as she hurried into the room.

The Doctor eyed her sheepishly and shrugged, even as he dodged Jackie’s blows the best he could in his compromised position. He could hear a deep chuckle from the opposite side of the coffee table and was glad at least one of them was having a lovely time.

“Mum, stop it!” Rose darted in as the pillow came down for another hit and grabbed it out of Jackie's hand. She tossed it onto the couch and surveyed the tableau in front of her.

Before she could ask again, Jackie screeched, “Say it’s not true, Rose!”

“What’s not true?”

Mickey, struggling through his chuckles, stated, “That you’re really 439.”

Rose sighed, even as her mouth twitched. “Mum! ‘Course not.” She gestured at the Doctor “What’s he like, yeah?” She shook her head and went back to retrieve the tea tray, then settled in beside a grinning Doctor. She peeked at him from the side and then looked back at her mum. “So, mum, any interesting news lately?”

Seconds ticked away as they made headway through tea and Jackie pondered her daughter’s question. “Not much. Hester from down the hall found out she’d been married since she was sixteen. Not to her current husband, you see, so’s she’s a bigamist. Accidental, mind, and they’re working it all out, though Chandry from downstairs reckons Norris might take this as a means to escape his marriage. Well, I says, I—”

“Mum! Mum, that’s not what I meant.” The Doctor puffed his cheeks out and rolled his eyes to the ceiling in relief. He felt Rose’s hand settle onto his forearm and squeeze lightly. He turned his hand around and chased after hers as she retreated, twining their fingers together. “I mean, anything... weird?”

“How’m I supposed to know? Ain’t nothing alien if that’s what’s you’re asking.” Jackie leaned back in her armchair and accidentally knocked a magazine to the floor. As she reached for it, her eyes seemed to light up. “Oh! It ain’t alien, but it’s something interesting for you, Rose. It’s the new king’s coronation. You might want to stick 'round for that.” She cast a Glance at the Doctor and he recoiled, confused. “It might’nt be as exotic as King Fendral of the planet Ballywhoploville, but Earth’s got some delights worth stickin’ 'round for, eh?”

The Doctor opened his mouth, ready to refute both the name of the king and of the planet (it was King Gendral of Ballwhoop-Plovillia), but Rose, ever vigilant, beat him to the quick. “What you mean, coronation? Liz II died?”

A haze of confusion cast itself down on Mickey and Jackie and they looked at Rose askance.

“Liz II who?” Mickey asked slowly.

The Doctor sat forward. “Queen Elizabeth the second?” He only got blank looks in return. “Manages the constitutional monarchy?” Jackie looked at Mickey, wide-eyed. “By that, I mean England’s government.”

It was so silent, the Doctor fancied he’d be able to hear a pin drop in the flat next door. Then raucous laughter filled the room. Rose glanced at him, eyes worried. He squeezed her hand, then rubbed his thumb over the top, waiting for the hilarity to subside.

“Nice one, doc,” Mickey chortled, and wiped tears from his eyes. 

“Constitutional monarchy, what a thing,” Jackie agreed. “We ain’t the States, you plonker.”

Rose bit her lip, eyes jumping from her mum to Mickey and back. “Why’s that such a thing, mum?” Her voice was low, wobbly, and her hand clenched the Doctor's to the point of pain, but Jackie didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, don’t be a plum, Rose. Everyone knows Britain is under the domain of France, and an absolute monarchy to boot.”

Rose gasped and even the Doctor’s hearts skipped a few beats. Jackie looked at them strangely, but shrugged and continued, used to their antics. Melodramatics about what have ye, she'd say.

“We ain’t all that fancy about our government like the States are, eh, being all flash with their constitution and whatnot. But what we’ve got works well enough for us, eh?” She jabbed Mickey in the side with her elbow and Mickey nodded.

“Not much to complain about.”

“Mickey, you were forced to serve in the military,” the Doctor stated softly.

Mickey shrugged. “Yeah, so. Got some real good knowledge and life skills that can translate into getting me a great civilian job, get me offa the Estate.”

“Right.” The Doctor scratched his left sideburn slowly. “Refresh my memory, eh? When exactly did France conquer Britain?”

“Oh, no, himself is giving us a history quiz! Wot? Am I supposed to know that? Do you know that, Mickey?”

Mickey shrugged, but the Doctor was pretty sure he’d already checked out of the conversation. Crumbs littered his lap from the scone he’d decimated. Little help would be found there.

“Jackie, please. This is extremely important.”

Jackie released a melodramatic sigh. “Oh, fine. 1780? 1790? Somewhere abouts there, I think. It was one of them awful kings, yeah? Killed all them Enlightenment blokes or something.” Jackie squinted into nothingness for a moment, then shrugged. “Oh, I don’t have the head for history. Why d'ya want to know, anyhow?”

The Doctor pasted a false grin on his lips and stated, “Big universe, lots of history. Get forgetful sometimes, I do.” He gulped his tea down while Jackie watched him disgustedly, then scarfed down some scones. He followed that by shoving a glob of jam into his mouth with his fingers. “Well, Rose and I’ve got to get some new clothes for this coronation, eh? Rose?”

Rose nodded and hurriedly slurped down her own tea. Her mug clattered on the table as she stood, straightening her jean skirt. “Yep. Gotta look my best if I’m gonna catch the eye of the new king.” She mugged for her audience, then smacked a kiss in their direction, before she turned to leave.

A twinge of jealousy pinched the Doctor’s hearts, even though he knew Rose was just joking. Still. If he couldn’t successfully put distance between them, the least he could do was control his stupid emotional reactions. He smiled tightly at the other two and then quickly followed Rose out.

They made their way out of Bucknall House, hands clasped, and despite the fear that Rose could be remade at any moment, a thrill of excitement rushed through him. A glance at Rose showed that same thrill revving her up, if her wolfish smile was anything to go by. Their eyes caught and they burst out laughing, like a couple of children, and took off running toward the TARDIS. 

Once safely inside, a tight ball of tension at the back of the Doctor’s skull unwound. Rose was safe. For now.

“So what do we do?”

The Doctor gave Rose a cavalier smile, to which she blew a rather loud raspberry as she leaned on the console. Chuckling, the Doctor tossed a few switches and pushed a few buttons. He realigned the timeometer (“that’s not a real thing!”) then watched as data spit out onto the monitor. “We now have a vague idea of when and where the change happened. All we’ve got to do now is find out the exact date, pop back to a little before that, and prevent catastrophic change. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.”

A confused grimace settled on the Doctor’s face. “Do we... do we like that term? I’m not sure. It’s fun. We’re fun. It’s eccentric.” He glanced at Rose knowingly. “We’re eccentric.” He paused a moment more and let the phrase settle into his brain. Then he beamed. “We like it! Rose, put it on the To Say Again list!”

Rose snorted derisively, but her eyes twinkled. She pulled out an imaginary pad and pen and wrote, mouthing the term as she did. Then she winked saucily and threw the invisible list over her shoulder.

“Oi!” He pointed at her sternly. She mugged at him, giggling, until the monitor beeped. Sobered, they turned to the screen, Rose’s chin rested on the Doctor’s shoulder, as she pretended to understand the date displayed. A soft smile flitted across the Doctor’s lips. He loved when she did that; a furrow placed itself adorably between her brows and her lips pursed ever so slightly. His eyes darted over to those lips, then quickly focused back on the screen.

“Hmm.”

Rose nodded thoughtfully. “Yep.” Her chin dug into his skin as she turned to look at him. Breath ghosted delicately over his ear when she asked, “What?”

“Looks like something’s gone wrong in France.”

Rose spluttered. “What’s ever gone right with France?”

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor nudged Rose lightly with his shoulder, setting her off in a fit of chuckles. He affected a ridiculous American accent and asked, “When will you limeys ever make friends with the frogs, eh?”

“They started it,” Rose growled, fingers held up like claws.

The light bulb dinged. “That’s it! Oh, Rose, you always give me my best ideas!” He captured her around the waist and swung her in a tight hug, their giggles mingling. He swung her around once more, then steadied her on her feet, and galloped over to his Joplin jacket to throw it on. He swirled to face Rose, who giggled again, eyes alight. “Come on!”

He stuck his hand out and wiggled his fingers and Rose dashed over to him, sliding her own between his. They barreled out the door and set off at a stiff pace.

“Where we going, Doctor?” Rose gasped out.

“The British Museum. We should find what we need there.”

Any more words went unsaid as the couple ran full pelt toward London’s Museum Mile. By the time they’d made it to the imposing frontage of the museum, Rose was slightly less enthused. She clutched her side and bent over, wheezing.

“Why... couldn’t we... have taken... a... bus?”

The Doctor breathed in deeply and released it leisurely, his hands on his hips, and then leaned a little to stretch his back. He looked down at Rose, about to answer, and blinked at the fire in her eyes.

“Ah, sorry.” He scratched his chin. “Well, you know public transport. It would have taken us hours! We’re here in less than one.” Rose continued to glare. “You’ve really become quite the marathon runner, you know. We should go to Marathon, the planet not the city, and enter you into one of their epic races. Inspired by ancient Greece, Rose! You’d love it! The clothes, the great prizes...”

He slammed his mouth shut, teeth clicking, when Rose’s ire only increased.

“Well, maybe sometime in the far, far future.” He turned back to the steps of the museum and gestured. “History! You lot, always striving to keep as much of it as possible. I love it!”

When Rose stood again, her breath evened out, the Doctor repossessed her hand and pounced up the stairs. Rose groaned and followed more slowly, muttering, “You owe me dinner after this.”

“OK,” he readily agreed.

“And dancing.”

Nodding, he said, “Sounds fair.”

“Proper dancing, with fancy clothes and stuffy music.”

The Doctor nodded along as they bypassed the crowd, his psychic paper granting them access. Rose quirked a brow, so the Doctor looked at his billfold. “Hmm. We work for The Ancien Régime’s Cultural Affairs Department.”

“That just sounds weird,” Rose asserted.

“Well, in this day and age, absolute monarchies really need to re-brand, show they’re _for_ the people, let them know their concerns are being heard.” Rose giggled loudly enough to garner a ‘shhh!’ and severe glare from a nearby docent, which only set her off more. The Doctor gently led her away, chuckling through the last of it: “And what better way to hoodwink the masses into complacency than a Cultural Affairs Department.” 

Rose nodded as her amusement subsided. She glanced once more at the docent who looked to be gearing up to stalk them through the museum. “Bit strict here, yeah? We’re not in a library.”

“Absolute monarchy, Rose. I suspect they do things differently here, modern day or no.” 

A shiver wracked her body and she squeezed tighter into the Doctor’s side. He secured his arm around her shoulder and rubbed soothing circles just above her elbow.

Voice pitched low, and head turned into the Doctor’s chest, Rose commented, “Feels a bit like we’re being watched by the Secret Police in here.”

The Doctor buried his face in Rose’s hair, murmuring, “Modern day absolute monarchy. Wouldn’t discount it.”

They wandered the museum, peeking into rooms and scanning the placards. Some sections were easier to ignore than others: the ancient Egyptian, Roman, and Greek history, for instance. But without knowing what exactly had gone wrong and when exactly it had, they looked at everything from French Rococo paintings to anything that had to do with the pre-Enlightenment. There wasn’t much.

“It would seem that the Enlightenment was ended before it ever even began, like your mum said.” They pulled to a stop in front of a Manet, pretending to look deeply at it. At any other time, the Doctor would have enjoyed quietly appreciating the French Impressionists with Rose, but now, he pulled her close and said, “Check the web. Look up the Encyclopédie, by Diderot.”

Rose’s nimble fingers danced across the tiny keyboard of her flip phone and while they waited, the Doctor absently noted that he should get her a smartphone from 2020 or so. Better than that old thing, and she would be able to take pictures.

“Nothing about it except that some man named Denis Diderot had his head lopped off for conspiracies against the crown. The other blokes who worked on it were jailed or refused to speak anything of it. All copies in existence were collected and burned.” Rose glanced up at him cautiously. “I suppose the encyclopedia was important?”

The Doctor blew out a breath. “It’s only considered the forerunner to the French Revolution. Weeell, we knew that hadn’t happened, but it’s another clue.” He darted his eyes around, then looked back at Rose. Reluctantly, he said, “Let’s split up. If you find anything questionable, anything at all, type this number into your phone. It’ll activate a frequency that’ll buzz my screwdriver and I’ll be able to trace it back to you.”

Rose huffed, unimpressed. “Just get a phone already, Doctor.”

“I’m not going to have that argument with you right now, Rose,” he sniped, as he finished programming the capabilities into the phone.

She took it back and stuck her tongue out before flouncing off in what seemed to be a random direction. Rolling his eyes, the Doctor took off in the direction of war. Or, more accurately, anything with weaponry from the 18th century. There should be some tidbit about a war and how it started on a placard. He hoped.

What he’d gleaned was concerning, but not at all helpful. France won The Seven Year’s War, which brought them to primacy, followed closely by an attack launched on the British Empire while they were limping home from the American Revolution.

“Think, think, think, think!” He smacked his forehead in time with his words and paced, as he thought of the wars, Diderot being executed, the Encyclopédie not being published. But it was like his mind was a rusty gear, locked into place, doing nothing but making annoying grinding noises. “It doesn’t make sense!”

He was jolted out of his irritation by the sonic releasing a little ‘ding!’ Smiling, he ripped the device out of his pocket and eagerly followed the signal to Rose’s phone. Strangely enough, it led him to a collection entitled ‘Unexplained Things Throughout History’. He came to a stop at Rose’s side, then jabbed his thumb back at the exhibition title.

“Odd, that. Unless the French monarchy had something to do with changing its future by messing with its history. Er, present, at the time of the messing about and somehow, something got out.” Despite his magnificent gob always capturing Rose’s attention, she hadn’t even glanced his way.

The Doctor leaned forward to catch a glimpse of her face and concern swept through him. There was a look of utter horror and disgust on her face. “Why’s she on display like that?”

Brow furrowing, he asked, “She who?” as he turned to look at what had captivated Rose. He recoiled immediately, pulling Rose behind him even though he knew it was futile, that she’d been staring at it for who knows how long.

Taking a deep, calming breath, the Doctor released Rose and stepped closer to examine the body. He glanced at Rose, who had shadowed him, and said, “Well, once you get over the absolute terror, you’ve got to admit, it’s not much different than Egyptian mummies.”

“Doctor, mummies are wrapped neatly in funerary bandages, stuck in a shiny box, and buried. They’re not dressed in finery and sat in a chair, with their heads literally on a silver platter on the table next to ‘em!”

Air whistled through the Doctor’s gritted teeth. “Well, when you’re right, you’re right.” He leaned over further to look at the skull. It still had some of its hair attached on the back, just above where the nape would have been. Dingy and straggly, it looked to have once been blonde. The most interesting things about it, however, were the precision cuts that severed the head from the neck and the crown of her skull from the rest of it.

Pointing, he said, “See those cuts, Rose?”

Gagging a little, Rose leaned forward and nodded. “What about 'em?”

“Well, those are too clean to have been done with the blades of the era she’s from, assuming she’s actually from...”

“Says she was killed in 1745 and that the weird events surrounding her death are why she’s been preserved.”

Rose shoved a brochure under his nose and he went cross-eyed trying to read it. His eyebrows made a new home in his hair the further he read. Once he was done, he turned to look at Rose slowly, eyes burning as the puzzle pieces fell into place.

“Rose, I do believe we’ve found our French connection.”


End file.
